


Sex And Torchwood

by flawedamythyst



Series: Horse And Carriage [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cracky AU of the Horse&Carriage verse. Sherlock experiences an unexpected revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex And Torchwood

It came from nowhere. Sherlock was quite sure of that much, at least. Before that moment, sitting in his chair and watching John drink his tea and contemplate another biscuit, there had been nothing. A surge of affection at John's dilemma over whether or not one more chocolate bourbon would increase his waistline by much, and the deep-down ball of warmth that was always present when Sherlock was with John, yes, but absolutely nothing more.

And then, John flicked his tongue out over his lower lip, torn by indecision, and it hit Sherlock like a bolt of lightning, frying his circuits and burning new conduits through his body.

“Oh!” he said, sitting bolt upright.

John glanced up from the packet of biscuits. “Please tell me that's not the kind of 'oh' that means I have to leave my tea so we can chase after a murderer.”

“No,” said Sherlock, unaccountably breathless. He couldn't take his eyes off John's face, his neck – when had his neck become so fascinating? - the curve of his lips, the patch of skin where his shirt button was open. Oh, oh god, he wanted to _lick it_ , why would he want to do that?

“Oh, fantastic,” said John. “Then I'm going to watch Torchwood, if you could just keep your epiphany noises to a minimum.”

“Of course,” said Sherlock, feeling dazed. John turned on the telly and settled down for his ludicrous show, but Sherlock couldn't do anything other than stare at him, his eyes tracing over all the familiar lines of his body and seeing wholly new things. Suddenly, he wanted to touch all the places he had previously been content just to be familiar with, wanted to run his fingertips over them and see what reaction John would have. He wanted to taste his skin, take all his clothes off and hold him down so that he could run his tongue along every line and into every hidden place.

“Captain Jack's looking good this episode,” said John. “Did they do something to his hair?”

What did his penis look like? Sherlock had never seen it – had never wanted to see it – and suddenly it seemed like an incredible oversight. Who was married to someone whose penis they hadn't ever seen? He ran his finger over his wedding ring almost reflexively, and then suddenly wondered what it would be like to have John's tongue trace along it. What would it be like if he sucked on his fingers? All that heat and moisture – Sherlock had previously thought the whole idea a bit sticky and vile, but now he couldn't imagine anything better. And what would John's mouth be like on the rest of his body?

“And here comes the overly-graphic gay sex,” said John. “Honestly, you'd think they'd get bored of filming it...all...” His voice trailed off, but Sherlock wasn't listening.

He wanted to have sex. With John. The signs were all clear, and rapidly getting clearer. The more he thought about getting John into bed, wrestling about with him, all sweaty and moany and- Oh, perhaps he should cross his legs or find a cushion or something, if that was going to keep doing that.

“His back is really muscled,” said John in a hushed voice, then he blinked rapidly several times, cleared his throat, and turned to Sherlock. Sherlock immediately tried to find a facial expression that didn't scream 'I'm imagining you naked'. It was harder than he'd have expected.

“Sherlock,” said John. “Can you contact Mycroft?”

Hearing his brother's name was enough to focus Sherlock on reality. “What? Why?”

“Ah,” said John. “No reason. Just – he'd know if someone was sending subliminal messages over the telly or something, right?”

Sherlock frowned. “What?”

John glanced back at the screen, where two men were bumping and grinding in a way that seemed like a really excellent suggestion but – thankfully – nothing more than that. Sherlock had no interest in either of them, only in John. That was something at least – if he was going to be sexual, at least he was keeping it to the bare minimum of just his husband.

“This is going to sound insane,” said John, tilting his head slightly to take in the on-screen action better, “but, uh, I think Torchwood made me gay.”

Several thoughts went through Sherlock's mind at the same moment. _How typically John, of course TV can't make you gay/if he's gay then we can have sex/Mycroft wouldn't know about it anyway, although I think he has John Barrowman's phone number and he might know/IF HE'S GAY THEN WE CAN HAVE SEX/does this mean John is currently aroused by the antics on the telly? Is he hard too? What is his penis like when it's hard?/YOU FOOL, PAY ATTENTION, IF HE'S GAY WE CAN HAVE SEX!_

Sherlock leapt up from his chair so quickly that he almost tripped over his own feet and ended up in a heap on the floor. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Uh,” said John uncertainly. He looked back at the screen, swallowed and nodded.

“But is it just them?” Sherlock asked, stepping closer. He gestured at the screen. “If it's subliminal, it could just be them.”

“I don't,” started John, then looked at Sherlock with a curiously intent look. His eyes flicked up and down his body, then his cheeks went faintly pink and his tongue made another, brief reappearance.

 _Oh god, he's picturing me naked,_ though Sherlock. It felt as if just the thought was going to make him explode in some kind of fantastically brilliant way.

“Yeah, not just them,” said John. He ducked his head. “Sorry,” he offered.

“Don't be,” said Sherlock, pouncing forward. He grabbed John's shoulders – and this new part of him did a little dance at getting to feel body heat – and pulled him to his feet. “I think we need to explore this more thoroughly,” he said, and then kissed John.

It turned out kissing was harder than it looked and things were a bit messy to start with, but then John made a little moaning noise, grabbed the back of Sherlock's head and slotted their mouths together in a different way, and suddenly it was amazing. Sherlock could feel it sending tingles all the way down through his body, gathering in certain key areas.

 _And this is just kissing!_ he thought, and pulled back. “John, we need to have sex,” he gasped.

John nodded frantically. “Agreed. Come on.” He took Sherlock's hand and pulled him off in the direction of the bedroom.

 

****

 

They lay there in silence for several incredibly long minutes. Eventually, Sherlock sat up, reached down the back of his bedside table for his emergency cigarettes, and lit one up. Somehow, the moment just called for it. John shifted but didn't speak, and another few minutes passed.

“Well,” said John, just as Sherlock was wondering if they'd be stuck in this awkward atmosphere forever, “that was the worst sex I've ever had.”

Sherlock took another careful inhale of his cigarette. “That was the only sex I've ever had,” he said. “But I am inclined to agree.”

There was another long silence during which they both contemplated the sheer horror of what they had just done.

“Sherlock,” said John slowly. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I think we need to get a divorce.”

Sherlock felt a dark, cold feeling drop straight through his stomach, but he found himself nodding. “Yeah, might be for the best,” he said.

There was a loud beeping noise, right in his ear, followed by a groan and a thump that, thankfully shut the beeping up. Sherlock jolted awake and sat up immediately. “Oh god,” he said, pressing one hand to his heart. “Oh, thank God.”

“Sherlock?” asked a sleepy voice.

Sherlock turned to look at John, lovely John, who was completely straight, and fully clothed in pyjamas, and who he hadn't ever had sex with. “Christ,” he let out.

John frowned. “You okay?”

Sherlock reached out for him, eyes flicking over his body as he reassured himself that he didn't find it even a little bit arousing. “John,” he said fervently, clutching at his arm. “John, we must never have sex.”

John's eyes widened. “O-kay,” he said. “Didn't think there was any danger of that.”

“There isn't,” said Sherlock. “None at all. Just – promise me. We can never do it.”

“What the hell kind of dream did you have?” asked John.

Sherlock tightened his grip on John's arm. “Promise me!”

“Okay, okay!” said John. “I promise we will never have sex. Good enough?”

Sherlock let go of him and nodded, relief pulsing through him. “And you can't watch Torchwood any more,” he added.

John's frown became even more perplexed, but he nodded. “Fine by me,” he said. “It was getting rubbish, anyway.”

Sherlock let out a breath, and managed a smile. “Thank you,” he said.

“You definitely need some tea,” said John, getting up. Sherlock watched him go, content to find that the warmth and the affection were still present and accounted for, and completely untainted by anything else.


End file.
